The staircase in my art deco dream pad is dramatic and steep. When you turn the corner, you’re surprised with a giant oil painting in a gilt gold frame by my friend Skyler Pierce of girls riding horse-sized roosters in the yard.
I remember a few years back, newly single, bringing a beautiful man upstairs, eager for his reaction.
“What do you think of my giant cocks?!” I asked, emphasizing the consonant cluster(f*ck), as I turned on the neon light I had in my bedroom then. It read FEAR, ILLUSION, DECAY and cast a sickly green pallor over the skin.
“I’m…a bit afraid…of big birds,” he said in his dreamy British English accent.
It was then the truth struck me like a bolt from the blue(jean): It’s me. Hi! I’m the problem. It’s me.
Or if not me, at least my taste in art.
I borrowed this outfit from a story slammer to wear last night at Story Story Night’s SLAMMER OF THE YEAR, because the team I coached decided to wear Canadian tuxedos. We also won the show! (At least someone is scoring.)
Saint Germain Paris jean jumpsuit – borrowed | LL Bean jean jacket – borrowed (and blue) | Nine West multicolor butterfly leather platform shoes – $11.99, Savers
Cheep it like you’re Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake at the 2001 AMAs.
Cheep 